


What are you going to name the cat, Miss?

by TeaandBanjo



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Missing Persons, There will be no spider in chapter 12, This Is STUPID, but I hope it is fun, magical transformation, spider - Freeform, spider in chapter 11
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2020-08-19 03:42:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 10,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20203141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaandBanjo/pseuds/TeaandBanjo
Summary: An arrest goes wrong.  Jack finds himself in a very strange predicament.Also, Phryne adopts a cat.How is this ever going to get sorted out?





	1. Jack, Day 1

Jack Robinson faced the heavyset old lady. Her clothing suggested a fascination with the exotic, as her head was wrapped in a silk turban, and her jewelry was all decorated with strange symbols. The parlor was of a similar theme -- heavy drapes, and strange statues.

“Mrs. Bierenbaum, you are under arrest on suspicion of kidnapping, false imprisonment, and the ransom demands made for the release of Hermione Sanders.”

“How dare you?” the woman demanded, and pushed him with surprising force that sent him sprawling on the carpet. 

It smelled of cat piss, and as he struggled to rise, she spread her hands, and intoned “Catu barata nictu!” The swirling gestures of her fingers made him dizzy, and the brown cat-eye gem in her ring held his attention.

Jack was alarmed to find himself tangled in cloth, and the old lady looming over him. “You aren’t going to cause me any more trouble, Inspector. No more than any of my other pets!”

The words he wanted to say to her came out as an angry hiss.

There was his warrant card, on the floor. He kicked free of the cloth, and reached for the warrant card. A gray, furry paw refused to actually grab it.

He heard a knock against the front door, and the velvet-clad lady strode away to answer it.

Jack reached with his left hand, and discovered that a white furry paw wasn’t going to manage the warrant card either. He picked it up in his teeth, and ran on four feet to an unreasonably large sofa.

He was pleasantly surprised that he fit underneath it.

The heavy-set old lady that he had just been trying to arrest was still on her way to the front door. She did not deserve to keep a police officer as a pet, so Jack felt it was important to escape from this untidy house that smelled even worse under the furniture.

He dropped the warrant card. Nothing could be allowed to slow him down, now. He’d be back with some constables when the time came.

The woman had her hand on the doorknob, and Jack made sure to use all four feet to get speed. He was going to get one attempt at this -- it had to count.

The door was only half open when he slipped through, dodging a pair of lady’s feet in red t-strap sandals, and another pair in worn brown mary-janes.

The house seemed bigger than when he went in, and his car parked farther away from the front door. 

Which wasn’t really the real problem.

The real problem is that Jack looked down to see four furry cat paws, and when he walked in a small circle he got a good look at a gray cat tail with white fur a the tip. Even if he could start the car, he was never going to be able to drive it.


	2. Phryne, Day 1

“That woman was not helpful at all!” complained Phryne Fisher, as the heavy door closed behind her. Dot was walking at her elbow, so she did not need to speak above a whisper. “We had a photograph, and the girl was last seen walking down this street wearing a blue cloche and carrying a parasol. How did this woman not see her?”

“What was she doing with an armful of laundry in the middle of her parlour?” Dorothy shrugged. “I don’t trust her.”

“We will get to the bottom of this later. Let’s go home and make some phone calls.” 

Phryne stopped in surprise. There was a large grey and white cat standing on the front seat of the Hispano. It looked her in the eye, tipped its head for just a moment, and yowled unhappily.

“How are we going to get it out of the car?” asked Dot. “It’s a stray, you can almost count the ribs.”

“It will probably leave when we get in. You open your door, and wait on the sidewalk.”

Phryne opened her door, and climbed behind the wheel. The cat’s blue eyes watched her start the engine, and it folded itself into a loaf, instead of jumping out.

“Shoo!” said Dot, from her safe position on the sidewalk. “Go home!”

The cat kept its eyes fixed on Phryne.

“Climb in, Dot. If I still have a cat in the car when we get home, I have a furry houseguest.”

“You know best, Miss.” Dot frowned. “Did you notice you were behind one of the police cars when you parked?”

  
  


The cat was still in the car when Phryne parked in St. Kilda. It had not seemed happy at all with her driving, and made a number of unhappy cat noises when she took a few turns a little fast, but she still had the grey feline passenger with the white tuxedo front.

She shut off the engine and climbed out. The cat padded along the red leather seat and jumped unsteadily to the ground.

Mr. Butler opened the front door. “Telephone for you, Miss. It’s City South.”

“Thank you, Mr. B.” She hurried to the door. The cat did not wait to be invited in, and was right on her heels.

“Phryne Fisher,” she said as she took the handset.

“Miss Fisher.” Hugh’s voice had an edge of worry. “Is the Inspector with you?”

“I haven't seen him today, darling. ...although I might have seen his car on Flinders street. What was he investigating?”

“He was following some leads on a kidnapping. He signed the car out at one, and hasn’t returned.”

“Someone should drive by and see if it is the car, maybe. Let me know what you find out.”

“I’ll stop by later, thank you.” 

Phryne strolled upstairs. Surely there was a good explanation, which Jack would provide when dropped in for a nightcap?

The sound of running water puzzled her. She hadn’t asked Dot to run a bath for her.

Dot had, in fact, run a bath. She was kneeling next to the tub, with both hands on a soggy, soapy animal. “I wanted to make sure we weren't bringing in any fleas, Miss. You never know about strays.”

The cat stared at her. Its fur was soapy and stuck to its body, and Phryne couldn’t remember the last time she saw a cat looking more unhappy.

“It’s a tomcat, by the way. Give me a minute to rinse off the soap.” 

A few minutes later, the water was draining out of the tub. The animal shook one foot at a time, then gave a giant shake that sent water flying.

“I’ll dry him off, Dot. Does Mr. Butler need help with dinner?”

“I’ll go check, Miss.” 

The cat seemed surprised to be bundled into a towel and lifted into Phryne’s arms.


	3. Jack, Day 1 continued

Jack was momentarily terrified by the sudden appearance of a giant fluffy towel, and the sensation of being lifted. He got his head out from under the edge, and found that he was pressed against Phryne’s chest as she carried him a few steps to the bed and placed him and his towel in the middle.

“It’s time to get dressed for dinner,” she said, softly. She used the towel to ruffle the fur on the top of his head.

He tapped her bare arm with one damp paw, but “Meow” didn’t seem to explain anything about his situation.

She rubbed the top of his head with a different corner of the towel, then turned to open her wardrobe and examine the contents.

Well, at least the top of his head was dry. The rest of his fur reminded him uncomfortably of damp bathers. At least the bathers could be peeled off and hung to dry, but it was quite clear he was stuck with the fur. He shook himself again, but that didn’t seem to help.

So, here he was in a safe place, with all the resources of A CAT. Was he even still himself, without the warrant card, and the collection of neckties, and the support of other police officers to bring criminals to justice? 

Jack contemplated his front paws. Cats seemed to get along. What would a real cat do?

In his memory, he mostly noticed cats sleeping in warm places, messily eating small animals, and licking themselves for no reason. The first two options didn’t seem like they would do anything to dry himself. Licking wet fur didn’t sound fun, but had some small chance of actually drying him out a little faster.

He held up his gray paw, and experimented. He was pleasantly surprised that his fur didn’t taste like soap. The long cat tongue did, in fact, seem to get a lot of the water out, and seemed to function as a small hairbrush.

When he fanned out his paw to lick in between the toes, he realized that there was an extra toe there, and that he had amazingly sharp claws. Best keep those hidden. 

He looked up to see Phryne unbuttoning her blouse. This was also a shocking development, although he quickly realized that she wasn’t going to hesitate to get undressed in front of A CAT.

It seemed that the sensible thing to do was ignore her and finish grooming his own damp fur. He found that he could curl up to reach his back feet, and methodically worked his way up from there.

  


After dinner (Jack was served small pieces of chicken, from a plate placed in one corner of the kitchen) there was a knock at the back door.

Miss Williams greeted Constable Collins with a kiss. His smile did not last long. “Dotty, I’m here to see Miss Fisher.”

“Of course, Hugh.” 

Jack decided that he was less likely to get stepped on if he climbed onto one of the chairs that were pushed under the kitchen table. Now he could see Mr. Butler’s dark trousers, Collin’s navy trousers and police boots, and Miss William’s tan skirt. Then Miss Fisher entered, with silk stockings and neat black shoes.

“Any news, Hugh?”

“We found the car. It’s the same one.” The lad sounded tired. “There is no trace of the Inspector. No one saw him drive up, no one saw him enter any houses, no one saw him leave the area.”

Jack’s ears twitched with annoyance. He’d escaped from the woman’s creepy house. He’d recognized Miss Fisher’s flashy red car, and Miss Fisher had brought him to her home. He was safe, but he wasn’t going to be able to tell anyone.

“People don’t just disappear in the middle of the afternoon!” protested Miss Williams.

Jack wondered if he’d fit between the back of the chair and the edge of the table. If he could get his head out, he’d be able to see.

“I’m sure there is a good explanation,” said Miss Fisher in soothing tones. “We just don’t know what it is yet.”

Well, the gap squeezed his whiskers a bit, but he was able to climb through and get all four paws on the table. He found himself next to a plate of sandwiches, which smelled deliciously of ham. Maybe just one...they looked enormous from his cat point of view.

“No! Bad cat!” Miss Williams’ voice had sudden authority.

Jack seized the nearest sandwich in his teeth, and leaped off the table.

“I made those for the Inspector!”

Jack squeezed himself under the cupboard. He ripped into the sandwich. It was delicious.

“Dot, I’m sure he’s not going to mind letting a hungry cat have one."  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack as a cat has one extra toe on each front foot. There are two results from this.  
1) He’s a tall, skinny cat with larger than average feet.   
2) If he leaves paw prints, they will be identifiable as his, with five toe pads instead of four. 
> 
> See <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Polydactyl_cat>


	4. Jack, Day 2

Jack woke up to a view of Phryne’s bare upper arm, messy hair, and the sound of her snuffling gently in her sleep. Anxiety crept from wherever it had been sleeping and curled up in his chest. He was not supposed to be here, how did this happen?

He stretched a little, slowly, and the feel of his ears folding against the doona as he moved brought back the strange new reality of being a cat. 

Right. Phryne had gone to bed late, after waiting up for the Inspector, who did not phone, and did not knock. Inspector Jack Robinson had meowed, patted her knee with a paw, and bumped his head against her leg. Somehow, none of these actions had been understood. Jack had followed her up the stairs to the boudoir, because Phryne might be in danger also. (He had asked himself what a house cat would actually be able to protect her from, and couldn’t come up with an answer.) He’d curled up to sleep on her bed just the same.

Jack followed the sound of voices, and wandered down the stairs and into the kitchen. 

“You keep an eye on the eggs, Dorothy,” said Mr. Butler. “I’ll get some milk for the cat.”

The man crouched to place the milk in the corner, and Jack sniffed at it, wondering what he would have to do to get some tea. Did cats drink tea?

“Welcome to Miss Fisher’s,” the man said, gently running his hand along Jack’s spine. “Dinner will be served promptly at five, and fish has been requested in your honor.”

Jack discovered that cat’s couldn’t actually shrug, and decided that milk with no tea was better than nothing at all.

“I thought we were doing fish for Jane! Isn’t she coming home today?” Miss Williams asked as she turned something out of the frying pan onto a plate.

“Miss Fisher and I will be meeting her at the train,” was the reply, with a wink. “Three o’clock, and there will be plenty of time to prepare it after we get back.”

Jack finished the milk, and found himself lifted off his feet. “Out, kitty!” Miss Williams voice had a tone of authority that some police sergeants would envy. “Go do your business outside.”

The back door closed behind him. He shook his head in annoyance.

He found the back garden a strange place from a cat’s point of view. Ornamental bushes towered over his head. Small plants were now at the right level for sniffing at, and there were tiny fungi on the ground that he’d had no idea about. He felt his ears twitch at the sounds of birds overhead.

A casual four-footed walk took him around the perimeter of the property. There was no sign of anything more nefarious than some cigarette butts where one might expect people to wait for the trolley. He’d also found a couple of ornamental plants that possibly needed fertilizer.

Business dealt with, he found himself at the kitchen door again. 

Somehow, a policeman’s knock didn’t work. Fluffy cat paws were terribly disappointing in yet another way. The hands he was used to using would have been able to just turn the knob to open the door, probably.

What was it that real cats did to get let back in the house?

Jack sat on the back steps, and meowed like his heart was breaking.


	5. Dot, Day 2

Miss Dorothy Williams was responsible for many things that kept Miss Phryne Fisher’s household running smoothly. All the breakfast cooking and washing up was complete, and Miss Fisher was off in the Hispano, with plans to interview or research or something.

So, the house was quiet except for Mr. Butler, who was making a list for marketing before lunch.

Dot began with the dusting. She tied the big apron over her neat dress, and held the feather duster as a weapon. 

First, the parlour. One never knew when Miss would return and prop herself on the chaise with a little bit of light reading, or some weighty tome about poisons. She thought she saw a gray cat tail on its way out, as she entered.

The few specks of dust on the mantle were quickly dealt with, and the swipe of a dust cloth along the picture frames was next. The piano got a quick pass with the duster, and she straightened the sheet music. She lifted the lid, the keys underneath were untouched. (Why did Miss Fisher need a piano? Dorothy had never seen her play.)

Curiously, several novels were on the floor in front of the bookshelves. A thin volume of Shakespeare went back on the second shelf, and American cowboy novel needed to go back on the first. Miss Fisher was usually much more careful with her books. Dot pushed all of the books back into a neat row, and went on to fluff the cushions in all the chairs.

Dot made sure that no glasses had been left out last night, and brought clean ones from the kitchen to tick down in proper rows next to the decanters. The whiskey was a bit low, she’d mention that to Mr. Butler later.

The hall was just quickly dealt with. Except that when the sunlight hit the floor just right, Dot could see the line of cat pawprints on the black and white tile. She’d be back with a bucket and a scrub brush.

Miss Fisher’s library was next. Dot stood in the doorway, stunned. A small pile of books seem to have flung themselves off one of the shelves. Pages of notes and half-written letters were scattered on the floor. 

The cat occupied the center of the large desk. Dot watched him hook a claw over the edge of the mug full of pens. It tipped, and scattered pens and pencils across the top, and a few bounced onto the floor.

He fanned out one paw and attempted to curl his toes around one of the pencils. The first try ended when the pencil rolled off the desk. He reached for a second, claws out...

“Shoo! Bad cat!” 

The bad cat looked up at her, eyes wide in surprise. The animal jumped off the desk and raced for the door.

Dorothy sighed, and began restoring order. The papers from the floor went in a neat stack, and she placed the collection of pencils on top as a weight.

The phone rang. Dot sighed, again, and abandoned the library.

“Fisher residence.” She looked around the entry, there was no sign of the cat.

“Is Miss Fisher in?” asked Hugh’s voice. She could hear other male voices over the line. He must be at City South.

“She’s out. With a list of people to interview.” Dot had caught a glimpse of the Miss’s notebook, there were at least three addresses. “I’m stuck here picking up after the cat.”

“Please have her call when she gets in, Dot. We need to know what she finds out.”

“You know she will share. Don’t worry!”

“I am worried. A missing police officer is seriously bad business. Especially one with as much seniority as the Inspector.”

“I know, Hugh. Miss Fisher is going to see if there are any clues at his house.” Dot suspected that the detective was also going to talk with the former Mrs. Robinson, but Hugh didn’t need to know that.

Now Hugh sighed. “She doesn’t have a warrant!” 

“She is a concerned friend, and the Inspector’s housekeeper will decide for herself.” Dot could hear the cat’s meow coming from the parlour.

“This is not according to procedure.” His voice was firm. “You have to let the police handle this!”

“I will give Miss Fisher your message,” she replied, in her most polite lady’s companion voice. “I will leave a note for her to return your call?” 

“Thank you, Dotty.” There was a long pause, and she could hear meowing again. “And tell her to be careful.”

“I will, Hugh.” She hung up the phone, and wrote “ _ Call Const. Collins, City South _ ” on the pad of paper.

The cat was getting louder.

She poked her head into the parlour. The animal was standing on the mantle, next to one of the little statues. Was it possible for a cat to look embarrassed?

“Silly cat!” The poor thing had managed to get up, but didn’t seem to know how to get down. “Why not just keep your paws on the floor?”

She lifted him onto her shoulder, and carried him into the kitchen.


	6. Phryne, day 2

Miss Fisher guided the Hispano slowly along the curb, counting the house numbers from the big white “400” at the corner. Number four-twenty-six was tiny, but perfectly maintained. She stood on the brakes and shut off the engine.

Luck was with her. She stood in front of the door, just about to knock, when a gray-haired lady (with a slightly damp apron and a bucket with cleaning supplies) emerged. “Excuse me, Miss. The Inspector isn’t in.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that.” She held out her hand. “I’m his friend Phryne Fisher. I was expecting a visit from him the other night, and he hasn’t been at the station.”

“Tabitha Sanders.” The woman set the bucket down to shake hands. “It did seem slightly odd that there were no dishes from breakfast, not even a tea mug.”

“Do you think he hasn’t been home?” She put on her most confused look. “Miss Sanders, would you mind terribly if I went in and looked for something that might tell us where he went?”

“Like clues? I might have cleaned some away, though.”

“Let’s walk through, and you can tell me what you cleaned.”

Half an hour was all it took the two of them to go through the small house. Miss Tabitha had placed the mail from yesterday on a small table in the front hall. It was still there. No dishes had been dirtied. There was stale bread in the bread box, and a few things in the ice box. Jack’s desk had not been disturbed -- Phryne found no suspicious notes or letters, and everything seemed quite ordinary. Bookshelves were perfectly ordered and the sheet music in its box next to the piano.

“Miss Sanders, did the bed look like it had been slept in?” Phryne hoped she would not scandalize Jack’s housekeeper, but she had to be complete. She opened Jack’s wardrobe, and tried to figure out which suit was missing.

“No, Miss.” Tabitha frowned. “Sometimes he is at the station overnight.”

“That would be my first thought, but the police haven’t seen him either.” Phryne looked at the row of ties hanging on the back of the door. Which one was missing?

“Oh, my!”

“Here is my card. Please call me if you hear anything, or remember anything he might have mentioned about a trip out of town.”

“Of course.”

The brass flap on the mail slot rattled, announcing that Jack’s mail had arrived. There was a bill from a book shop, and nothing else of note. Phyrne copied down the address.

Miss Tabitha put Jack’s new mail on top of the old mail, and locked the door behind them as they left.

  
  


Jack Robinson’s favorite bookstore was a little bit out of the way, but a Lady Detective had to cover all the possibilities. She entered to the sound of a bell ringing.

“May I help you, Miss?” The clerk put down the broom, brushed his hands down his tweedy jacket, and tried to look helpful.

“Oh, Ii do hope so!” Phryne smiled, and pulled offer her gloves. “My friend recommend a travel book to me, he said he’d seen it in your shop, but I can’t remember the title.”

The clerk’s helpful smile tightened a bit. “What sort of travel? We have maps, guides for cyclists, and books with all the sights. Did you have a destination in mind?”

“Well, he was practically poetic about it. Do you know Jack Robinson? He would have been in the shop a couple of days ago?”

“Ah, I do recall!” The clerk smiled, and this time it was a little more relaxed. “He has us hold new Zane Gray novels when they come from overseas! He hasn’t been here for at least a week, unless he slipped in while I was on break and Alice was helping customers.”

“I’m just going to look around in the travel section, maybe it will come to me,” said Phryne. 

“Let me know if you need anything,” he said, and continued sweeping the spotless floor.

Phryne frowned at the rows and rows of books about seeing the sights in Australia, visiting the ancient and modern ruins of Europe, and the natural wonders of America. It just wasn’t like Jack to leave Melbourne without making any plans, no matter how exciting the destination.

She did find a new Agatha Christie novel ( _ Partners in Crime _ ) for Jane, and a book on the care and feeding of cats.

The sun was out, so Phryne enjoyed the pleasant breeze with the Hispano’s top down. She’d pick up Mr. Butler, and the two of them would meet Jane at the train station.


	7. Day 2, Jack, again

Before dinner, everyone gathered the parlour. Jane flopped into one chair, Dot sat carefully in the other, and Phryne settled herself into the gold velvet cushions of the chaise.

Jack strolled along the wall and decided that under the piano bench might be a safe place, as Mr Butler brought in a tray with drinks.

“What will you name the cat, Miss?” asked Jane. She tucked her feet under her. 

“I really hadn’t given him any thought, as I am working a case, and was out asking around about the Inspector.” Phryne sipped the amber cocktail without tasting it. “As for the cat, maybe you could help, Jane.”

Jane’s soft laughter seemed to indicate agreement about the cat. “Is it an interesting case?”

“It’s a very mysterious case. Young women disappear, their families get demands for money, money changes hands.” Phryne leaned forward, resting the glass on her leg. “At least two of the young women have been returned unharmed, but they haven’t been able to tell us anything about where they were held.”

“Surely the police are investigating?” 

“Jack was, yes.” Phryne’s eyes were half-closed. The glass rocked on her knee, its contents shifting but not far enough to spill.

He snuck closer, and tucked himself under Dot’s chair. It was totally unfair, although not surprising, that Mr. Butler hadn’t bothered to mix a cocktail for the cat. Never mind that it had been a really frustrating day of discovering all the things he couldn’t pick up with little fuzzy paws and all the things that Miss Williams didn’t think a pet was supposed to get into. 

“The ransom payment gets placed in a small bag, and left in a public place.” Miss Williams had clearly been chatting with Collins. “Plainclothes police were watching, but didn’t see who picked it up.”

A small shuffle of soft feet took him under the table. Miss Fisher’s drink was only inches away, held with completely careless grace. Her nails were red, and he could smell brandy and citrus. From his feline point of view, the glass was the size of a bucket.

Jack put his front paws on the chaise, folded his ears back and stuck his head into the glass. It seems that a cat must sometimes serve himself.

“So,” said Phryne, “We have young women held for ransom, and we can’t track the money, and no one has seen how any of the girls were returned, either. There is something we are missing.” 

Jack took advantage of her distraction to drink. Mr. Butler did not disappoint. He wondered what his tolerance for alcohol was, now that he was small and furry. Just one more lap, and he’d leave the rest to Miss Fisher...

“Miss!” Jane giggled. “The cat!”

Phryne sat up straighter, and lifted the glass away. She smiled down at him. “I don’t think you are old enough for a sidecar, darling. You’d best stick with the milk.”

Jack glared at her and licked his whiskers. Maybe he did feel just a bit light-headed.

She patted the velvet next to her. “There is room for you here.”

Jack climbed up and stretched out his front paws to reach the edge of the chaise.

“Join the party,” continued Miss Fisher. “There is always room for one more.” Her fingers brushed across the fur behind his ears, and he rested his head on his legs. 

“Is brandy safe for cats, Miss?” Miss William’s voice had a worried edge.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine, he just had a little.” Fingers were moving gently down his spine, and he relaxed a little more. “Tomorrow, I need to find out if there are more kidnappings. It’s hard to see a pattern if I’m missing some of the crimes.”

Jack relaxed a little more. Miss Fisher’s touch was slow, and pleasant. This was completely inappropriate, but it was pretty clear that his cover identity as a cat was still in place.

A strange, low rumble reached his ears. He lifted his head and looked around. The noise stopped, and there was nothing out of place in the parlour. Miss Fisher was listing all the things that she had not been able to discover about the criminal or criminals.

He put his head back down and let himself sink a little further into the cushions. Her hand was still moving, and Miss Ross and Miss Williams were still watching Phyne, who seemed to be taking another sip of her drink.

There was the buzzing noise again! 

Was it something elsewhere in the house? Outside? The front window would give him a good view of the street… and there was no noise anymore.

“Relax, handsome.” Phryne gently scratched her fingers behind his ears. “You don’t have anything to worry about.”

He sagged down against the chaise again. Something odd was happening. In fact, Jane was now watching him with an amused smile. 

Jack remembered the shy, angry orphan that she had been. Was that only a year ago? Now she was becoming a confident, educated young lady with Miss Fisher’s care and influence. 

“You are safe here,” continued Phryne. Her fingertips brushed the top of his head, past his shoulders, along his side, and back to the top of his head.

A low rumble felt like it was vibrating his whole body. What was happening? He got to his feet and shook off Miss Fisher’s hand and...nothing.   


Jane flung her head back and laughed. It turned into a breathless, strangled snort as she covered her face with her hands.

“Jane, are you alright?” demanded Dot.

“The cat!” gasped the girl, lifting her head. “Every time he starts purring, he wants to get up and find out where the strange noise is coming from!”

Dot looked at him with a barely suppressed snicker.

Miss Fisher bent a little to look him in the eye. “Are you alright, darling?” She held out her hand. He sniffed. She smelled of perfume, petrol, and newsprint.

Jack lay down, again, on the gold velvet. He was going to let Miss Fisher, Lady Detective figure this one out. He didn’t really have a choice, but he knew her. She wouldn’t stop looking for him, and she would eventually find the right clue.

Her fingers brushed against his fur, over and over. He let his eyes close, and this time that low, buzzing rumble wasn’t a surprise.


	8. Day 3, Constable Collins

Constable Hugh Collins was in the habit of visiting the Fisher residence before his daytime shifts at City South. He was grateful that Miss Fisher herself didn’t seem to object. He supposed some other employers might resent a man distracting one of their servants from her duties. Sometimes, he suspected that Miss Fisher let him come around in case she had questions that Inspector Robinson wouldn't answer, but he was willing to put up with it in order to see his girl.

Hugh followed Dotty into the parlour. She seemed a little bit agitated this morning.

“This is ridiculous!” She waved her feather duster at the table with the draughts board. “The cat is cute, but he is into everything!”

“Isn’t that what cats do?” He looked down at the board. The checkers were not neatly placed in their squares, but now formed a circle. 

“I tried to get him to chase a string, Hugh.” Dot’s cheeks were flushed, and she dusted the book case with unnecessary vigor. “What kind of cat won’t run after yarn?”

There was a strange sound from the hall. Hugh kept his steps quiet, so as not to disturb Dot, who continued to explain exactly what was wrong with the cat.

A single red checker slid past the doorway.

Hugh put his foot on it, and glanced over to see the startled face of the grey-and-white cat, who crouched at the other end of the hall, past the stairs.

Hugh tapped the checker to send it back across the tile.

The cat reached out with a gray paw, and the game piece came back in Hugh’s direction with unexpected speed.

Hugh bounced it back with the toe of his shoe. “Oi, footie is your game!”

The cat pounced, and captured the checker.

Dot appeared in the doorway. “Why are you encouraging that animal?”

“Exercise is good for everyone, Dotty.” Hugh decided that he would die before telling her that she was cute when she frowned like that. “May I stop by after my shift and we can take a nice long walk?”

“I’d like that, if Miss Fisher and Mr Butler can spare me at dinner time.” The wrinkles in her forehead smoothed out, a little. “I’m worried about the Inspector. The miss keeps saying it will all come out alright, but this morning she seemed ... too quiet.”

Hugh put his arm around her shoulder, and she leaned in to him. “I’m worried, too. We are all looking. Robinson always seems to know how to handle everything, and if he’s managed to find something he can’t get out of it must be very, very serious.”

Something tugged on his trousers, and Hugh looked down at the cat. It unhooked its claws, sat calmly, and it stared at him with intensely blue eyes.

Hugh bent to pat the animal.

It swatted his hand, hard, turned tail, and ran to the kitchen.

“Did he scratch you?” gasped Dot.

Hugh looked at the back of his hand. “No, not a mark.”

“This is exactly what I’m talking about.” She stomped her foot. “A normal, ordinary cat will scratch. They only use a closed paw on a kitten, or really small children."

“It’s alright, Dotty. It’s just a cat.” He held her for just a moment. “I need to get to the station. You and Miss Fisher take care of yourselves.”


	9. Phryne, Day 3

Phryne and Dot spread out the wool blanket at the top of the mild hill at the west end of the park. She sat, as Dot fussed with the tea things and the spirit stove. If all went well, they would appreciate the tea later. 

Her view of the park was superb. The wrought iron fence separated the decorative border plantings from the sidewalk and the avenue beyond. Four brick paths converged on a round, central fountain, which sprayed water into the air..

“Time,” said Dot, glancing at her watch. She gently placed the kettle over the flame.

Jane practically danced through the gate, her ribbons flying behind her, and her box camera clutched in her hands. She stopped to take a photo of the iron archway and the street, then seemed to be considering which of the park’s features were worthy of her film.

Phryne tried to get a feel for the people in the park at this point in the afternoon. Some small, ragged boys seemed to be running after each other and yelling, which wasn’t surprising. A well-dressed couple strolled, arm in arm, also quite to be expected. There was an old man asleep on a park bench. It seemed to be a quiet morning at the park. There was no sign of anyone who could be Miss Zenobia Stiene, described by her mother as “slightly built, blonde, wearing a pink dress, with a blue coat and matching cloche.”

The kettle was making some bubbling noises. Dot looked at her wrist again. “Cec should be here,” she said, and spooned some tea from the tin into the teapot, which was waiting next to the little stove.

Cec sauntered in from the gate opposite Jane and her camera. His hands were buried deep in his coat pockets, and he seemed to have not a care in the world. Phryne thought she heard a bit of whistling.

It was all so very peaceful, (with the exception of the boys) although she could still hear the traffic on the street. A very lovely flowering bush held place of honor in the center of the one brick wall. Jack would know what those lovely red flowers were called … if he were here. “Stay with the case, Phryne,” she muttered to herself.

There was a whistle, at which point Dot lifted the kettle, poured some boiling water into the pot, and looked at her watch for a moment. “Time for Bert!” She blew out the flame on the stove.

The cabbie paused just inside the gate to roll a cigarette, and looked around for something to lean against.

A heavy woman wearing a large hat and wrapped in a shabby coat shuffled past Bert. She was lugging a covered wicker basket. Phryne wondered who was going to share such a weighty feast. Were the group of boys hers?

Cec’s leisurely ramble had taken him to the center of the park, and he took his hands out of his pockets. He scuffed his feet a little, and seemed to be humming again. Phryne knew he was supposed to be dropping a black leather wallet and pushing it against the marble side of the fountain, to be invisible under the wide, decorative lip of the pool.

Loud barking drew Phryne’s attention. A small black dog had joined the boys, and was running in crazy circles around them.

Yates strolled to the North gate, and paused on the sidewalk, as if he were waiting for the trolley.

Jane was now in the grass, and pointing her camera in various directions as if she had no clue how much film was left.

The dog seemed to tire of the boys and raced around the fountain for a few laps, then leaped onto the edge, swam through the pool and ran past Cec as if something were pursuing it.

Where was the lady with the picnic basket? Phryne wondered.

The boys were now waving sticks at each other, with no sign of adult supervision.

Phryne scanned the park. The heavy lady was on her way out, with the basket handles settled in the bend of her elbow.

“Help!” said the large bush. It sounded young and scared.

Phryne scrambled to her feet, as the cabbies ran back into the park. (Jane snapped a picture of the bush.)

The lot of them trampled through the border of small leafy things, and looked behind the bush.

A young woman with bare feet and tangled blond hair looked up at them. She seemed dazed by the sunlight. Her pink dress was crumpled, but not dirty.

“Miss Steine?” asked Phryne. “Come have some tea with me, and when you are ready we will take you home.”

The girl stood carefully, and cleared her throat. “That would be lovely. Thank you.” Her voice was rough, and she stared at her hands as if she had never seen them before, opening her fingers and flexing them again.


	10. Jack, Day 4

The sounds of dishes and conversation from the kitchen woke Jack, early in the morning. It was easy, as a cat, to jump off the bed without waking Phryne. Whatever she’d done yesterday on her case had left her humming with satisfaction and she and Miss Williams discussed delivering the ransom for Miss Zenobia Stiene. It seems the young lady had been promptly returned. The disturbing part about this is that Jack, as a policeman, had no knowledge of this crime. He and his fellow officers had been kept out of the case.

After breakfast, Dot cleared away the dishes. Phryne finally came downstairs, and Mr. Butler brought up a stack of photographs from the basement.

“I was up late printing these,” he explained. “They are all dry now, let me know if you need any enlarged.”

Jack watched from the doorway as Phryne, Jane, and Dot spread the pictures out on the kitchen table. No one was paying attention to him, as was perfectly proper for a cat. Jack fought the urge to scratch someone.

“Good work, Jane. You got Cec in perfect focus!”

“Look, you can see the wallet he dropped.”

“Yes. There are two things I can’t figure out.” Phryne frowned at the pictures Jack couldn’t see. “The wallet wasn’t there when we checked after we found Miss Steine, and I don’t know how she wasn’t in the park when we arrived, but then she was.”

“Bert swore he checked the whole park before we got there,” offered Dot. “Could she have been curled up under the tree? Because that wall is at least 8 feet tall.”

“How about the money?” asked Jane. “Look at the last photo. It isn’t there anymore.”

“I know. We didn’t see anyone near the fountain at all, after Cec walked away.”

“We are missing something important here.” Phryne drummed her fingers on the table.

The doorbell rang.

“I’ll go get my magnifier,” offered Jane, who patted Jack on her way to the stairs.

“Miss Zenobia Stiene to see you, Miss,” announced Mr. Butler. “I’ll bring tea and biscuits, if that will suit?”

Phryne’s hair swung dramatically as she hurried to the parlour. “Thank you! Dot?”

Jack looked around at the empty kitchen, and leaped on table. The photos seemed to be entirely of people, in a park. It wasn’t his case, even if it should have been, but it would be silly to ignore evidence that was just left lying around, right?

Voices drifted in from the parlour as Jack examined the pictures. He found if he put a claw out, he could drag photos across the table to see the ones underneath.

“How do you take your tea, Miss Steine?” Miss William’s voice was calm and soft, and the sound of pouring liquid carried in from the parlour.

Here was a photo that showed an ornamental fountain, with ladies at a picnic in the background, and boys playing. He was fairly certain that he was looking at Miss Williams and Phryne. The fountain was familiar, he could walk to that park from City South. He had a good idea where the photographer had been standing.

“Those are delicious biscuits, Dot. What brings you here, Miss Steine?”

“You left your card, and asked me to call you if I remembered anything else.” The girl’s voice was soft and uncertain.

“Or if there was anything else I could help you with.”

“I didn’t want to say some things in front of my mother. She would worry.”

“You can tell me anything. Are you quite alright? You weren’t hurt?” 

“I wasn’t hurt.” There was a long pause, and Jack’s ears twitched at the silence. “It was a very strange experience, and I don’t really believe it myself.”

“Start at the beginning, then.” Phryne’s voice.

“I was approached by an old woman, she wanted to know my name. I introduced myself, she said something I didn’t understand. I fell. Then she bundled me up in her shawl, and carried me, and I couldn’t get loose.”

“Must have been a very stout lady.” Miss Williams snickered in an unladylike fashion.

“I know. Eventually, I was put down on a hard surface, and managed to untangle myself from the shawl.”

“Could you tell where you were?” Phryne’s voice was soft.

“I was in a kitchen, and I couldn’t see out the windows, and everything was strange.”

“Strange, how?” Jack could hear a pencil against paper.

“Miss Fisher, I don’t know what really happened, but I thought I was a cat. I had orange fur, and a tail, and I could not speak.” Jack’s ears pricked up. A week ago, he would have thought this ridiculous, but here he was with a tail.

“You were missing for four days. Do you remember eating or drinking during that time?” 

“There was a dish with water, and sometimes the old lady would come in and put down food or milk. I didn’t go hungry, and I slept on one of the chairs. I did worry I was going mad.”

“Miss Steine, whatever you experienced, I do not think you are mad now.” The clink of china plates filled a pause in the conversation. “What happened just before we found you?”

“I was asleep on my usual chair, and I woke up when someone lifted me and put me in a covered box. I tried, but I couldn’t get out. I could feel the box being lifted, and hear the sound of the trolley bell.”

Jack spotted a picture with the picnic basket. The woman was grasping the handles with both hands, as if there were something heavy. Something about the way she stood looked familiar, although the long, ragged coat was one he’d never seen before.

“Do you think you were carried onto the trolley?”

There were two more pictures of the woman. Jack slid them across the table to put them in a row. 

“Yes.” There was a long pause. “The trolley made two stops, and we got off at the third, I think. The person carrying the box seemed to have trouble getting down the steps.”

Jack knew the trolley line that ran past the park. Three stops to the North was the business district, where the newspaper building was, and a lot of shops. Three stops to the South took the riders to close streets with Victorian era houses. 

More specifically, a house that he had visited in his professional capacity. In that visit, he’d managed to escape, but just barely. He’d walked in a man, and ran out on four furry cat feet.

“What happened once the person who carried you was back on the ground?” Jack could her the scratch of Phryne’s pencil against a paper.

“I could hear children and birds. The box moved like I was being carried some more, slowly.” “The box was set down, and the old woman lifted me out. She said some words I didn’t understand, and … things got strange again.”

“I know this is difficult, Miss Steine. Do your best.”

“She dropped something pink to cover me, and then I realized I was naked on the grass, and the pink thing was my dress. I put it on. There wasn’t any sign of the old woman anymore, so I called for help.”

The photos under Jack’s paws told a story. The woman had carried a cat in a wicker basket, waited for the money to be dropped, and then released the cat and turned the animal back into a human girl. There was still the question of how the money was picked up, though.

It made a sick kind of sense. None of the neighbors would really notice if Mrs. Bierenbaum had an extra cat or two in the house. Cats would be easy to capture, and easily delivered to where they were supposed to be returned. If one of them escaped, they would never be able to tell anyone.

Jack had solved the case, but no one would ever know. 


	11. Phryne, Day 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a spider in this chapter. Tragic things happen. (from the spider’s point of view) There will be no spider in the next chapter.

The afternoon sunlight did not enter Phryne’s study. Dot had been through this morning, dusting and tidying. The window was open to the garden, letting in the fresh air and the sound of birds and insects.

Phryne’s desk was now adorned with maps, and the photographs that Mr. Butler had removed from the kitchen table to make room for dinner preparations. She had rulers, pencils, and her favorite fountain pen with red ink ready to do battle.

The cat was sprawled along the windowsill, where he could turn his grey and white head to view the garden, or look in her direction with equal ease. His attitude was one that would have been limp dejection if he was anything but a cat. Nothing moved but his ears and the tip of his tail.

Phryne spread out the large square of artist’s paper that she had begged from Jane. It covered most of her desk. One of the Melbourne maps had enough detail for her to rule in the walls around the park, and note where the paths and gates were. She traced a teacup to mark the fountain in the center.

“I have photographic evidence, and I’m going to get to the bottom of this!” she declared, and was slightly embarrassed to realize her only audience was the cat. He lifted his head for a moment, and set his chin back on the windowsill as if it wasn’t worth the effort.

The photo marked “1” showed the gate at the North end of the path. She examined the photo, and guessed where Jane had been standing when she took the picture. That spot got a little circle “JR1”. Phryne drew a very light line, showing the path that Jane had taken from the gate to that little circle.

She picked up the photo marked “2”, in which Jane had captured an image of Phryne herself, Dot making tea, and two of the small boys. She added a “JR2” circle, a “ME2” circle, and a “DW2” circle. 

She found it tedious work, particularly trying to distinguish the boy with the striped cardigan from the boy with a very similar pullover. Her magnifying lens finally allowed her to note the buttons on the front of the one child, and the handkerchief sticking out of his (probably) brother’s back pocket. 

Phryne lowered the glass and photo number seventeen to discover that her map had a new visitor.

Shiny black legs stepped cautiously across the all the penciled lines on her map.

Phryne let out a small squeak, and her hand clenched around photo number seventeen.

The spider advanced, mouth parts waving. Its feet scraped against the paper.

Phryne’s heart pounded in her chest. Why had she ever come back to Australia? She could buy passage back to England, if she could get to the harbour. If she could only move.

The cat appeared on the desk, one large paw sliding the stack of photos away. 

“Don’t!” she gasped, as the animal sniffed at the spider. The cat’s ears were forward, its eyes fixed on the eight-legged thing as it creeped across the paper. One paw reached out, claws spread wide.

Phryne dropped the crumpled photo.

The cat’s paw came down with a thump. The spider was somehow broken and flat against the paper, and the cat picked up one of the detached legs in its mouth. Sharp teeth chewed, making surprising sounds.

Phryne had not realized that spiders were crunchy. 

The cat licked its paw without taking its eyes off the wreckage of the spider. It tipped its head for a moment, then darted in to get another spider leg.

“Dot!” She reached for the cat, who backed away. “Help, the cat is trying to eat a spider.”

By the time her companion arrived, there was no spider to be seen, just a grey and white cat. 

The cat stared down at Phryne’s park map, with all the circles and numbers and penciled lines. It tried to flatten out the damaged photo number seventeen, but only succeeded in knocking the crumpled thing off the desk.

“Thank you for rescuing me,” she said. “I’m almost sorry I don’t have another tasty spider for you.”

The cat swiveled its head to gaze at her with luminous blue eyes. There was something familiar in the animal’s posture. Long legs and huge awkward feet reminded her of something...

“It’s quite alright, Miss. My mum’s cat used to eat spiders all the time.” 

Phryne tried to call back the thought. Who or what was the cat reminding her about?


	12. Jane, Day 4

When Jane Ross had first slept in this bedroom, the walls had been the calm beige of a water-tumbled stone. That was a while ago. Now the wall above the girl’s small desk had many picture-postcards tacked to the plaster. The old-fashioned postcard announcing “Ballarat - The Athens of Australia” had been joined by more from Victoria, and then even more from Europe.

Jane opened her desk drawer and took out a sheet of paper. Once upon a time, she had been surprised at Miss Fisher’s choice of stationery. (“But Miss, the other is so much less expensive!”) Over the months, Jane had gotten very fond of how the gold nib of a good pen glided over smooth, top-drawer writing paper. 

“Dear Mother,” she wrote, and then paused with the pen in the air. Anna Ross deserved the best her daughter could provide. So, it was to be a cheerful letter, on expensive paper, telling stories about her daughter’s education and adventures.

“I am well, and I am back in St. Kilda after a lovely visit with Ruth. Miss Fisher…”

Jane wondered how her mother would feel about Miss Fisher’s case of the missing girls, and the missing Inspector. Mother had always been terrified of what might happen to Jane, and the disappearance of Mr. Ross was one of those things that Mother had never been willing to answer. 

Kidnapped girls and vanished policemen should not appear in the letter, Jane decided. There would be only happy things in this letter.

Now her mind was as much of a blank as the velvety cream-colored paper. If she sat here thinking, the ink would dry in the nib. “Think first, then write,” she told herself.

Maybe there would be something to eat in the kitchen. She capped the pen, and set it down carefully so it wouldn’t roll away. 

The skinny gray cat was sitting at the top of the stairs leaning ever-so-slightly against the railing, The set of the animal's head and ears reminded Jane of someone. 

“Inspector!” said Jane, smiling at her own joke. The white patch on the cat’s chest looked very much like a properly ironed shirt-front, so he was quite as much the proper cat as Inspector Robinson was the proper plain-clothes policeman.

The grey and white cat seemed to snap to attention. He stared at her with eyes wide.

“Too much studying,” said Jane. “let's go get ourselves a snack.”

The cat followed her down the stairs, past the parlour and into the kitchen. Voices from Phryne's study were arguing about a dog. 

The kitchen was empty, so Jane opened the pantry door and considered possible snacks. She gathered a plate, some cheese, a can of sardines, and a paper packet of salted crackers.

She opened the can, and held a fish to tempt the cat onto one of the chairs. 

The cat’s whiskers twitched, and it scrambled up to claim the fish, using a paw to bring the treat to its mouth.

Jane stabbed a lot of wooden toothpicks into the cheese. It now looked quite dead. “I should be writing to my mother,” she explained. “I should only be letting her know about happy things. Missing girls and detective-inspectors would be upsetting.”

The cat put his two front paws on her skirt and let out a soft meow. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m forgetting about the important things!” Jane lifted another fish out of the can.

The cat shook his head violently, and looked vaguely disappointed.

She held the fish closer. “Good nutrition is important. Or, at least that’s what they say in school.”

Sharp teeth closed on the fish, and Jane got one of the kitchen knives to cut apart the cheese. The plate looked so much more civilized with one toothpick in each little cube.

“Inspector Cat, I think that you are the happy story for my letter!” Jane sat, and tore the paper to get a cracker.

The cat flattened himself against the chair and let out a sigh.

Miss Fisher and Dot appeared at the door. “Who are you talking to, Jane?”

“I was just being silly, Miss. Talking to the cat.” 

“It’s alright, he’s a good listener.” Phryne put her arm around Jane. “I told him a few things earlier this afternoon.”

“Why did decide to get a cat?” asked Jane, nibbling on a cube of cheese.

“It wasn’t my decision, although I am getting a bit fond of him.” Miss Fisher brushed her fingers over the animal’s head. “The top was down when we parked the Hispano, and Dot and I got back to find him.”

“I guess he wanted a ride?”

“I think he just wanted a warm place to sleep,” suggested Miss Williams. “Did you close the pantry properly? Mr. Butler thinks he has seen mice.”

“Yes’m. And the crackers will go back in the tin box when I’m done eating.” Jane sighed. “Is that the whole story of the cat, Miss? I want to write to mother.”

“Let’s join you for some coca, Jane. Dot and I did an interview at a woman’s house…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I drew a couple of Tarot cards to get some extra details for this chapter. The 10 of Swords image is a bunch of swords stuck into a body, which is recreated here when Jane vents her frustrations on a block of cheese.


	13. Phryne, Day 5

Phryne opened her eyes. A gray and white cat stared at her with surprising intensity across the ocean of a silk brocade bedspread.

“Am I sleeping too late?” she mumbled, and reached out to pet the top of his head. “I think Jane is right, we need to find a name for you.”

The cat shook his head, hissed at her, then leaped off the bed.

“Was it something I said?” Phryne asked the white tip of the cat’s tail as it vanished through the door. 

  
  
  


Heavy doors closed behind her with an unpleasant metallic noise. Miss Fisher tugged her coat a little more closely around her shoulders. Her heels tapped on the tile, and the noise echoed away down the hall.

“She has been a model prisoner,” the Chaplain began, twisting his hands. “I’m afraid she has not been interested in the comfort of religion, but I feel a need to visit her anyway. She doesn’t seem to have any family.”

“I don’t believe so,” Phryne agreed. “She was here to offer her spiritualist talents to the people of Australia, and her business partner is now pursuing other projects.” She had heard rumors that Warwick Hamilton was training a new young lady to the psychic trade. She hoped things were going well for them.

“She hasn’t been well.” The man read off the number on the door, and checked how his collar was sitting. “The Women’s Prison is not really equipped for such a sick old lady, but we are doing the best we can.”

“I understand, Reverend.”

“Just so you are prepared, Miss Fisher.” The Chaplain twisted the key in the lock and swung the door open. “I’ll be waiting outside if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” she said, and went in to greet the prisoner in cell 243. “Mrs. Bolkonski, will you speak with me?” 

“Miss Fisher!” The woman smiled up at her visitor, but did not lift her head off the pillow. The gray fabric of the prison dress emphasized the unhealthy gray tinge to her lips. “You look well.”

“I’m physically well, thank you.” Phryne pulled a chair up next to the bed. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“You are kind to ask, but there is no cure for my condition.” Mrs. Bolkonsky took a slow breath. “I feel sure that I will be welcomed when I cross over.”

“I can’t speak for the spirits,” said Phryne, “but you were a very pleasant guest in my house with the exception of what happened to poor Captain Ashmeade.”

“That was most regrettable. There is so much anger left from the War, and should have found the strength to resist. I hope Captain Ashmeade will find it in his heart to forgive me.”

“I'll leave that to Freddy. I have a question. I’m in the middle of a strange case, and Inspector Robinson has vanished in a way I find disturbing.” Phryne wondered if Freddy would be angry with his murderer, or grateful that he was no longer in pain. 

“Give me your hand, Miss.” The woman closed her eyes, and clung to Phryne’s fingers with both hands.

Mrs. Bolkonski’s head sank more deeply into the pillow, and her mouth fell open for a moment.

Phryne’s first thought was to call for help, but the woman’s grip on her hand was like iron.

"You can speak to the Inspector, but he cannot speak to you.” Her voice was rough, and changed. “Someone has spoken strange words, and you don't know him when you see him." 

“Mrs. Bolkonski! Come back!” Phryne did not think that the spirit world was a good place for a sick old woman.    


“There is a stone charm, and there is a true name! You must find one or the other!” 

The woman’s hands went limp, and her eyes had rolled up under her eyelids. Phyrne felt for her pulse, but could find nothing.

“Reverend!” Mrs. Bolkonski’s heartbeat could still be found in the large arteries of her neck. “Call for a doctor.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm glad everyone is enjoying this fic!
> 
> Chapter 10 will take us back to Jack's POV.


End file.
